I once read this unprecedented poem when I was a teenager and touched me very very deeply.It came to my mind whenever someone mourns his beloved ones.
The poem was written the same day of Balqis's death in 1981 when there was a bomb attack in Beirut by the Syrians on the Iraqi embassy where Balqis had worked. From that day on Nizar was never able to live in Beirut again. Nizar was also never able to get over her death and didn't marry again . He spent the remainders of his life in exile until his death in London . In this poem , he expresses both his grief and anger at the entire Arab world and he expressed explicitly, in the last line of the poem , that by killing his wife the Syrian regime wanted to kill his words.
Balqis --Nizar Qabani
Translated by :Yasser K. R. AMAN
Thank you.
Thank you.
For killing my Balqis.
Go, have a drink,
On the martyr’s grave’s brink.
My poem is assassinated.
For no nation but ours
Has such powers!
Balqis …Was the most beautiful of Babel queens
Balqis …Was the tallest of all Iraqi palm trees.
She gracefully walks
As if followed by oryx and peacocks.
Balqis … You’re my pain…
The poem’s pain when thumbed.
How can plants sprout
After your hair’s rot?
Oh, green Nīnawā,
My blonde gypsy,
Tigris’ waves,
Wearing, in spring,The best bracelets.
They killed you…What an Arabs nation That enjoysThe nightingales’ assassination?!
Where’re a-Samaw'al,And al-Muhalhil,
And early generous masters?
Tribes have eaten tribes.
Snakes have slaughtered snakes.
Spiders have killed spiders.
I swear by your eyes,
Where a million planet lies.
My love, I will tell shocking tales about Arabs
Is heroism an Arabs’ lie?Or, like us, does history heroism falsify?
Balqis,
Never finally rest,
Or the sun Won’t shine over the coast.
When investigated,
I will say:The thief takes the role of fighter.
I will say:The talented leader becomes a contractor.
I will say:The radiation’s tale is the nastiest joke.
We’re a tribe, like others, under the yoke.
Balqis.
.This is history’s ugly face.
How can men differentiate betweenA garden and a dustbin?
Balqis,
You’re a martyr, a poem;
Chaste and righteous.
Queen of Sheba people search to welcome
In return, go and hail them.
You, the greatest of all queens,
A woman who incarnates, all Sumerian Ages.
Balqis..Of all birds,
you’re the delicious.
Of all icons, the most precious.
Dear as tears, over Magdalene’s face.
Have I done you injustice,When, once, I moved you from Adhamiyah banks?
Everyday, Beirut kills one of us.
Everywhere, there is death,
In the cup of coffee,
In the door key,
In the terrace flowers,
In the papers,
In the alphabet.
Here we are, Balqis
Back again in Jahiliyyah
Back to savagery.
To backwardness, hideousness and meanness.
Back again to barbarism.
Where writing is a journey
Between fragments.
Where killing a butterfly in its field Is the case.
Do you know my beloved Balqis?
She is the most important in love books
A wonderful mix Between softness and hardness
The color of violet in her eyesTwinkles all times.
Balqis
It is not a dirge.
But ...It is a farewell to the Arab age.
Balqis..
We’re ever pining for you.
And the little house asks
About his perfumed princess’s where abouts
We listen to the news, but it is mysterious
It leaves us ever curious.
Balqis..We’re suffering to the bone.
The kids don’t know what’s going on.
I don’t know what to say, then?
Would you shortly knock at the door?
Would you take off your winter coat?
Would you come smiling,And like field flowers shining?
Balqis
We’re very sad at heart.
Struck dumb and shockedBalqis
…How did you take away my days, and dreams.
And crossed off gardens and seasons?
Oh, my wife;
My love;
my poem and my eyesight.
You were my beautiful bird.
How did you leave me without a word?
Balqis..It’s time for perfumed, well stored Iraqi tea.
My giraffe, who will serve it gracefully?
Who moved Euphrates to our house?
Who moved Resafa and flowers of Tigris?
Balqis..Grief penetrates me.
Beirut killed you,About its crime, it never knew.
Beirut loved you; however,It ignored killing its lover.
And put out moonlight forever.
Balqis
…Oh, Balqis
…Oh, Balqis
…Over you, every cloud weeps buckets.
Who will cry for me?
Balqis; how did you depart with no sign,
Without putting your hand in mine?
Balqis..
How could you leave us twisting in the wind,
Trembling as leaves?
You left-the three of us-lost
,As a feather under the rain.
Didn’t you think of me;
your lover?
I need your love as much as Zeinab or Omar .
Balqis
…You’re a supernatural treasure,
An Iraqi Spear,
A bamboo wood.
You defied stars in their loftiness,
From where did you get such strength?
Balqis
…My friend;
my companion,
Decent as a chrysanthemum.
For us, neither Beirut nor the sea has a space,
Nor can we find any suitable place.
Balqis..You’re unmatchable
,A unique piece!
Balqis..
I’m tortured by our relation’s gory details.
And time hangs heavy, as tough as nails.
Every little hairpin has a story to tell.
Even your golden hairgrips,
Usually overwhelm me by waves of tenderness.
The sweet Iraqi voice,
On curtains
,On chairs,
On cutlery,
Rests.
You show up
From the mirrors,
From the rings,
From the poem,
From the candles,
From the cups,
From the purple wine.
Balqis
…Oh, Balqis...Oh, Balqis
…If only you recognized,
The pain caused by places you once occupied.
In every corner your spirit hovers as a bird,
Fully scented as a Balm wood.
There you used to smoke.
There you used to read.
There, as graceful as a palm tree,You got your hair combed.
To welcome the guests you entered,
As brisk as a Yemeni sword.
Balqis..Where is the Guerlain bottle?
And the blue light?
Where is your Kent cigarette,
Which is ever in your lips?
Where is Al Hashmey singing Over such a good stature?
When combs remember you,
…The green plants you grow
Are still on the wall, making a crying show.
Your face is still moving
Between the mirrors and curtains
Even the cigarette you’re smoking
Keeps its lights
And its smoke is hanging.
Balqis
To be continued ...
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Originally Posted by YesNo
